


Stuck in a Game

by raspbarry



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, No Beta, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Romance, Sort Of, We Die Like Men, smut??, talks about abuse sinbad dealt with while a slave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23593825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspbarry/pseuds/raspbarry
Summary: Sex is fun and all until emotions are part of it and destiny decides to be an ass.Love is a no-no word.
Relationships: Jafar/Sinbad (Magi), Judal | Judar/Sinbad (Magi), One Sided - Relationship, Onsided, Ren Kouen/Sinbad
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Stuck in a Game

Irony.

That’s exactly what finally caught up to Sinbad with a nice helping of karma, and a dash of humor to finish it up with a neat little bow. But, for the moment, the king remained unaware of his upcoming predicament. Will it be some slated lover come knocking at his door? So, to speak. Or suddenly, someone produces a child that was clearly sired by him? Maybe it was Ja’far appearing before him with more paperwork to sign and look through…

With his luck, it’s probably the latter.

Although, that’s far too easy, far too commonplace, and destiny- despite this singularity’s protests and future goals brewing in his mind’s eye. Well, it certainly had something else in store, and maybe, just maybe, destiny really did have a twisted sense of humor.

Right now, his mind was far too occupied to care or wonder of what the future holds—at least not pass the hour as hands tug on his purple strands roughly and he thrusts with more force.

This has happened more than once, maybe too many times for it to be considered sane between these two men, who clearly stood on different sides of the conflicts plaguing their world. Even their temperaments clashed so harshly, one can stand to wonder how they, or at least one of them, hadn’t murdered the other.

But with a second tumble in the king’s bed, leaving him a little bruised and sore in ways he lets very few ever touch him, those questions remained unanswered. Sinbad needed to be in control, at least, when it came to these types of matters, he hardly let anyone pin him down with his arms above his head and pleasant gasps passing through his lips.

He knows the reasons, Judal does as well, knows them well when he first noticed the marking around Sinbad’s neck, as a child on their first meeting. They’re faded now, but the one around his neck remains prominent against sun-kissed skin. The others were hidden from view with bracelets and the cuffs of his pants. Those on his back are never seen, not unless you undressed the king and the oil lamps were burning away in the night or the daylight peeked through the cracks.

Sinbad never lets anyone touch them if he can help it unless he was completely drunk on both alcohol and lust. Then he can forget, he can forget a lot of things, and that probably wasn’t the best solution, but it works.

It’s fine, and it works.

The first time Sinbad allowed his control to slip, he almost regretted his decision and realized this wouldn't be the best partner to be trying this with again. He’s had men, he’s had women, he’s always held control firmly in his hands. Judal was a force, he was volatile, with mood swings Sinbad had only just finally start to get a hold of and has drawn the older’s blood more than once. Has caused him pain more than once. 

Yet, maybe it’s because he knows the pain Judal can cause, knows the taste the pain leaves behind, that’s why he allows it. And why he doesn’t stop it when by the thirteenth time they’ve met one other again in heated kisses and hastily tossed aside clothes, that Sinbad doesn’t stop him. Not right away. The moment they connected, the moment he let his control go completely, he pushed him back for fiercely they might as well be physically fighting. Sinbad was met with memories of a chamber filled with cold water, locked away from sight, that in a month’s time became real torture. When the last time anyone touched him like this it was filled with pain, fear, hate, and desperation.

He was sick that night, he didn’t care if Judal stayed or left, Sinbad barely remembered that night. He didn’t remember the morning, except that he was alone, it was cold, and that his nails scraped at the faded scar as if to peel it off his skin. It doesn’t happen often, he has moved on, but old memories were tricky things. And they look for the right moment, the right time to slip through his strong will and muck about with dirty hands and leave him behind heaving.

Months passed, Sinbad was sure of it, not like he kept track of the time, not when they meet again, he’s without metal vessels, and he’s picking a fight with the blue-haired magi. Sinbad was too occupied with Alibaba and company to wonder what happened after the battle. Perhaps he should have noticed, should have taken time, but there was nothing between them pass bodily satisfaction.

At least, that’s what he tells himself, he fully believes it. Completely and utterly sees nothing pass the touches, the kisses, and the bruises. Even in the months, he stayed in Kou, speaking with the Emperor, and wondering if his plan surrounding Alibaba was really worth it at times. They don’t speak words the first week, hardly even glanced at each other; this wasn’t a scenery either of them felt comfortable in.

The king had questions but knew well enough that Judal wouldn’t supply the answers he completely wanted. So, he left it alone for another few days, behaved and stayed generally within the area he was allowed. Despite the urge to go and explore, he didn’t exactly want to make it rougher on his generals or have them report back to Ja’far that he “misbehaved”.

Sinbad’s not sure which night it happened, but he was alone—looking over a few books from their library when his dark shadow loomed over him and caused the king to pause in his reading.

“Judal--?” he questioned; brows furrowed in confusion. Had his generals noticed him? No, their rooms were close but separate. He doubted they would have let the dark magi pass.

“Hey, stupid king,” he utters, bare feet making his way over, before flopping down on the bed. No care for the books, or if Sinbad wanted him there in the first place. Honestly, Judal wasn’t sure if HE wanted to be around him.

Yet, he eventually found himself here.

It’s annoying.

With a slight scowl, Sinbad tucks away the books, a part of him knows he won’t be reading them any time soon. If nothing, Judal knew how to distract the older from both work and… anything that had nothing to do with the magi, himself.

“What are you doing you?” Sinbad reached up to undo his ponytail, the reason question remained silent.

~~Why have you been avoiding me?~~

The young scrunches up his nose, and lightly kicks at Sinbad, “Are you really stupid? I live here—”

He rolled his eyes, of course, that’s the answer he’d get, “You know exactly what I mean, I’ve been here for a couple of weeks already, and you haven’t—”

“Aw,” Judal rolled onto his stomach, watched the king as he slipped off his excess number of accessories and a couple of his metal vessels. Save for the ones around his wrists, crimson eyes looked at them knowingly. The magi wondered how much those markings bothered the king, it’s been years, but he supposed it made sense. Either way, it wasn’t his area, he can’t and won’t offer comfort. That’s gross.

“Are you feeling neglected, Sinbad? I didn’t know you were so needy,” he teased.

The magi doesn’t want Sinbad to ask him any more questions about what happened back in that stupid tiny kingdom. Didn’t want questions about that what stupid little magi did to him. Or how he suddenly remembered a family, a family taken from him and them. That fucking woman.

Yeah, no, he doesn’t want a conversation like that at all.

“I’m not needy,” he protested, “I was just—” worried “curious, Judal.”

Why did he care? … Sinbad doesn’t want that question answered. Ever.

“Whatever,” the magi waved it off, crawled closer towards the other. He reached out to drag his fingers through long purple strands, giving Sinbad barely a moment’s warning, before he roughly pulled him and bit down on his neck.

Sinbad didn’t stop the startled groan escaping his lips, he reached up and pulled Judal roughly away from his neck. Crimson met golden orbs, one second, two second—their lips clashed. There were words that both had floating around in their heads, they had these words, but their tongues were busy. And despite whatever other desires they had that wasn’t physical, neither one wanted to breach the subject. Neither one wanted to take that step.

Because neither one wanted this to become more than it already was.

“We have—” their naked chests pressed against each other, hands buried in long strands of hair, “to be quiet, my generals will…”

Judal pulled away from those lips, “Are you planning on being loud, stupid king?”

Oh, that made Sinbad pause, “Me?”

“Yeah,” he pushed his hips forward (Sinbad could have stopped him, but he doesn’t), and flips their positions. “You.”

His crimson eyes look livid, but not the kind that promised war or blood. They flared with a purpose, and the smirk on his lips looked just as dangerous. And Sinbad… felt nervous, that familiar flutter of dread from that night, aided by memories he always tried to hurdle over or forget.

….

It was a challenge, and like hell, Sinbad would back down, he didn’t need to give Judal any more leverage. And maybe it was stupid, maybe it was impulsive, maybe something else, but whatever it was Sinbad went for it.

The king returned the smirk, “You have a lot of confidence, let’s see if you can handle me, Judal.”

His own widened, it looked more impish than anything, “You really are a stupid king.”

Talking was pointless, they’ve made their choice, they made their choice the moment those clothes were gone, and they resumed their activities. The way their lips met, how their tongues battled against each other, their hands pulled and tugged and bruised. Teeth nipped and bite at the skin, and fingers skirted across them.

Were they loud? Sinbad doesn’t know, doesn’t care, they weren’t interrupted. Neither by his generals nor by his own actions. It was… strange, letting Judal lead it was probably a bad idea. Again. There was a moment of hesitation, Sinbad shudders and shut his eyes and counts to ten. It was fine, it was fine—and it had nothing to do with suddenly softer touches alone his neck that Judal seemed to favor.

Were their gasps? Were their moans and hips that tried to make each other’s paces for a deeper and fuller sensation? Did he drag those nails across pale skin or did they both try to leave marks on each other’s bodies? Probably. Yes. Yes, they rocked, they moaned, they paid little attention outside of the bubble they created around each other. And not for the first time, Sinbad thinks they should stop this. Not for the first time, Judal would probably have agreed, yet they don’t stop. They keep going.

When morning came, he found himself alone and chuckled if that’s how it felt when he left women and men wanting in the morning.

But—they met again that night and the one after and the one after that. Different tumbles, different turns, but it was fine. It was fine.

Sinbad didn’t feel a sense of dread anymore, and Judal seemed far too pleased with him. Considering how physically weak he was, he seemed to do well in other areas, maybe that was a little bit of magic? Hm, if Sinbad asked, chances are the reaction would end in a fight, and that would not go well during this visit.

Technically sleeping with their magi wasn’t a wise choice either, but who’s telling?

**Author's Note:**

> what am I doing? I have no idea. Sorry for typos!


End file.
